


Damian on Themyscira

by kikanawj



Series: Tim Drake (and the greater DCU) [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Animal Death, Blood, Butchering, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne-centric, Gen, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Indoctrination (League of Assassins), Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, To be continued in later parts, Unreliable Narrator, descriptions of butchering livestock, my canon now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikanawj/pseuds/kikanawj
Summary: A companion piece for my other work in this series Crisis. Following Damian's time on Themyscira after Ch 19 of Crisis.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Everyone
Series: Tim Drake (and the greater DCU) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759369
Comments: 60
Kudos: 149





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Reading Crisis would give you a much better idea of the surrounding context, but here's an attempt to summarize.  
> Bruce is dead from Darksied, Cassandra Wayne called in a favor to send Damian to Themyscira while the rest of the Batfamily takes care of Gotham in the aftermath of Batman's death.

Diana offered no small talk for the duration of the journey. But neither did she seem distant. If Damian had any questions, or a desire for conversation, he would have felt welcome to voice his thoughts.

But he did not. So he did not.

They went from the cab to the small craft airport into a rather nondescript plane. Damian kept his bag with him in his seat. Diana gave it a look, but did not voice any thought. They took off and Damian spent the first half of the flight cataloging the cabin’s interior. He had identified 58 parts and items he could fashion into weapons, 4 different ways to exit the cabin, and 12 areas where he could hide from the immediate view of the pilot. 

For the second half of the flight, he reanalyzed Cassandra’s words.

She had said this trip was a  _ gift. _ Not a test, not a punishment, not abandonment. A gift. Damian had always had to earn his gifts in the past. Weapons, equipment, time spent with his mother, audiences with his grandfather. Nothing came without a cost.

Perhaps the price had been paid by Father. There had certainly been no plan to send him to Themyscera before his Father’s death. But why had that been the cost? Was this a part of a rite of succession? 

But then why call it a gift? 

Damian felt unsettled by the uncertainty. He had foolishly let himself grow accustomed to the routine of the Gotham penthouse apartment. He had begun to expect to see Grayson each day, to be visited by Brown or Cassandra at night during their patrols. He had even grown used to the occasional weekend with his Father. 

Now he was bereft, and he felt ashamed for it. His Father was gone, dead on some far off mission that Damian had barely known about before it was over. Such an unremarkable end. 

No, that wasn’t right. His Father had perished defending a planet against what amounted to a galactic God. It was the stuff of myth and legend.

It only felt unremarkable. Somehow. And Damian didn’t know how to reconcile the feeling with the fact.

The plane began its descent, and Damian left his musings. He instead focused on the small island they were now heading towards. Thick banks of fog surrounded it in its entirety. It was mountainous on one side, with cliffs dropping into the ocean. There were rolling hills across the rest, with patches of woods. Damian could see buildings scattered across the whole island, dotting the land.

“How well do you speak ancient Greek?” Diana finally spoke. 

Damian clenched his jaw, “I know enough to read.”

Diana smiled, “Then you should be able to pick it up conversationally. Eventually. Most on the island speak other languages. Mostly Latin and its modern off-shoots. A few have picked up some English.”

Damian felt a knot in his chest loosen, his Latin and Spanish were much better than his ancient Greek. He pursed his lips.

“Does anyone speak Arabic, or Urdu?”

Diana grinned, “A few. I am sure they would welcome the chance to practice.”

They landed. Damian followed Diana off the plane onto a gorgeous white sand beach. The air was salty and clearer than Damian had known in all the months he’d been in Gotham. There were a few women waiting for them, all in linen dresses of ancient Greek design. Damian felt out of place in his jeans and hoodie, even next to Diana in her pantsuit.

The women greeted Diana. Damian understood the gist of it. And then the blonde woman, who looked like the oldest of the three, turned and addressed Damian.

“Welcome, young one,” She said in accented English, “We receive you as a guest. May your stay here be restful.”

Damian kept his posture even, relaxed, but his gut felt pinched. Rest was for the weak or injured. 

“Thank you,” Damian responded, “I am honored.”

  
  


The island was a Mediterranean paradise. There were bountiful gardens and farms sprawling out from the gorgeous stone buildings. The weather was fair and the perfect mix of sunny with the occasional cloud. Damian was shown around the main town, and given an overview of the rest of the island. He was invited to attend communal meals and welcome to join the many activities and events on the island. In the first day he was there, there was a horse back archery practice, an impromptu orchestra meeting in the amphitheater, open sparring in the western training grounds, and there were huge vats of linen being dyed in the main plaza. 

Damian politely refused the invitations, instead retiring to the lodgings he’d been provided. It was a sparsely furnished but comfortable room with a balcony that overlooked a vineyard. 

He did not unpack his bag. He kept it slung across his shoulder as he inspected his room. He swept the whole place for secret alcoves, false walls and floors, and mentally cataloged all entrances. He found no secret or hidden facets. The door did not lock, it simply shut. The balcony didn’t even have a door separating it from the room. Just a heavy curtain that could be drawn across the entryway.

It both reassured him and made his shoulders tense. It was ridiculous. He had lived his entire life in Nanda Parbat without doors that locked. Surely the few months he had spent in the Gotham apartment had not spoiled him for it. For the ability to bar entry into what was assigned as  _ his  _ space. And it was fine, better even, because he could not be shut in. Not that any lock would ever hold him for any consequential amount of time. 

Around sunset, Diana came knocking at his door.

“Yes?”

“May I come in?”

Damian went to the door and opened it for her. She had changed into a leather and linen ensemble, complete with metal headband. She carried a small wooden crate in her hands. Damian stepped back and she entered.

“How are the rooms for you?”

“They are most adequate,” Damian responded, keeping his gaze lowered from hers.

“Have you unpacked?” Diana eyed the bag that Damian was still wearing.

“...no. Not yet.”

“No one will enter these rooms without your permission for the duration of your stay,” Diana assured him, “Nor would anyone harm your belongings.”

Damian nodded. He had not meant to insult their hospitality.

“But don’t feel rushed.” Diana continued, “I brought you something.”

Diana set the small crate down on top of the trunk at the foot of the bed. She waved to it. Damian crossed the room and lifted the crate’s lid.

Inside were folded linens. He picked the top one up. It was a chitton, with a deep red stripe along one side. There was a simple leather belt underneath it in the crate, and more linens beneath that.

“There are no butlers here,” Diana said, “So your clothing, as well as your bedding and indeed your rooms are yours to care for and keep clean. You were shown the bend in the river with the clotheslines nearby?”

Damian nodded.

“If you have any further questions, no one would mind showing you the finer points. You are welcome to wear whatever you are comfortable in. These are simply a gift.”

Another gift. Damian clenched his jaw tightly. “ _ Why? _ ”

Diana raised her eyebrow. Damian’s thoughts caught up with his words and he felt instantly fearful. He couldn’t afford to offend Diana Prince,  _ WonderWoman. _ She- everyone on Themyscira was stronger than him, had had hundreds of years more training than him, and most importantly - didn’t fear the League. He was thousands of miles away from anyone who owed allegiance to his family. 

And unlike his Father and his chosen, no one here had sworn against killing.

Before he could formulate an apology or excuse, Diana spoke.

“I thought it would be nice for you to have some local clothing. Something that didn’t ...stick out so much. I have been a stranger in foreign places many times. Dressing the part always helped me settle in.” Diana reached past him and picked up the belt from the box. She held it gently and ran her thumb over the metal ring, “These were mine, a long time ago. They have been sitting put away for far too long. Better they get used again.”

She set the belt back in the crate and made her way back to the door.

“There is food in the plaza. You are welcome to eat with us, but it is not required.” Diana winked at him, “You will have to come and get your own plate. Again, there are no butlers here.”

With that she departed down the hall.

Damian looked down at the crate and then back towards the door. He ran after her.

“Wonder- Dia-!”

Diana turned around. She smiled, “Diana is fine.”

Damian nodded, “...what are the rules on carrying weapons? Openly.”

Diana took a moment to think, “Well, you are of course allowed to be armed. But there are certain places where drawing your arms would be prohibited. Namely the senate floor and the throne room. The bathhouses as well.”

“Thank you.” Damian said. He inclined his head before rushing back to his room.

Damian put his bag down and began to change. It had been since his Father had flown them to Gotham that first night that he’d last worn his full kit. He strapped on all of his holsters and sheaths. Sliding the knives, needles, smoke bombs, and poisons into place. He felt his heartbeat settle with every piece. 

He went through the crate next. There were three chittons, each with a different color adorning a stripe on one side. There was the leather belt and three braided cloth belts as well. There were a few more folded pieces of heavier fabric that Damian was unsure of their exact nature. There were also several sandals of different sizes.

Damian kept his underwear and donned his athletic undershorts from the bag he’d brought. He put on the red striped chitton and the leather belt. His bracers with their hidden knife compartments went on his arms, and he fastened his katana to his belt.

He tried on the sandals, but none of them fit comfortably. He slipped on his tabi instead. 

Damian went through a round of forms, testing the movement and restriction of his ensemble. It caught the air more than his full league regalia, but it didn’t hinder him.

Damian checked his phone. As he expected he was well outside of any service coverage. He opened the message app to look at the stored chatlog. He knew there wouldn’t be anything new since he last checked. And now there wouldn’t be any new messages for his entire stay.

Damian powered his phone off, stored it in his duffel bag, and stuffed the whole thing under the bed.

He went off to find food.


	2. Mistakes

The Amazons made no demands on his time. He was free to join whatever activities or events were transpiring, or he was free to occupy his own time. Damian kept mostly to himself for the first few days, and mostly kept to his rooms and the immediate surroundings. But he soon grew restless, bored. 

It seemed foolish to be on a mythical island of legendary warriors and not train. So he began to slowly join training sessions, exercises, and sparring. There was a large hurdle to his initial involvement. Damian was welcomed into practices like archery, sling casting, and a lesson on proper javelin throwing with little to no problem. For more one-on-one sparring and weapons training, he had to prove himself capable. They started him with bare handed sparring first, and slowly allowed him to join them for shield wall drills, then sword sparring, and eventually full kit large scale practices.

Naturally there were mistakes. The Amazons were not used to sparring mortals. And there was an adjustment period for figuring out just how much force would be felt, versus what would injure. The first time Damian received an injury during the sword sparring drills, he nearly lost his left arm from the elbow down. It had been a whole production. 

Damian had misjudged a block, redirecting a blow away from his chest, but not at the right angle. He didn’t yell, didn’t make any noise beyond a sharp inhale of breath. He dropped his sword and pressed his right hand on top of the gushing wound.

There was shouting around him, his sparring partner, Apphia, was calling for help. She knelt next to him, holding out a cloth. Damian grabbed it and pressed it against the wound. She reached for him, for the cloth, probably to help wrap it tighter.

Damian flinched away from her. Apphia pulled her hands back. They stared at each other for a moment. Damian wanted to run, he wanted to be anywhere but in the middle of a well lit field surrounded by well trained, well armed warriors. He knew, objectively, that he needed medical attention. His hand was slick, the cloth was already soaked through. He was losing a dangerous amount of blood. 

Apphia extended one hand towards him.

“Let me carry you to a healer.”

Damian felt sick at the idea of it. Or maybe that was the rapid blood loss affecting him.

He nodded his head, and Apphia picked him up effortlessly. 

His mind was spinning off in different directions as Apphia ran. He hated this, being carried, being injured. He had made a foolish mistake, a novice’s mistake, and now he would face the consequences. 

He was brought to a hall and placed on a high table. A woman began applying more pressure to his wound as another took his face in her hands and examined him. She felt his forehead and checked his eyes. They spoke to each other in rapid ancient Greek. Damian caught a few words, but couldn’t focus well enough to make sense of them. A bottle was placed in his right hand, and lifted to his lips.

Damian jerked back and away from it. The woman caught the bottle before it fell. The other woman grabbed his arm and held it in place tightly.

“Drink,” The woman with the bottle said in English. “For the pain.”

Damian shook his head, which set off a horrible sense of vertigo. He grit his teeth together against it and the pain from his arm.

“You need to hold still. Drink, to lessen the pain.”

“I will hold still,” Damian ground out.

The two women exchanged a look, but neither pressed the issue. They gathered their tools and began stitching his wound closed. Damian had the end of his leather belt between his teeth as he held himself motionless. He was sweating from the effort, the pain, the horrible dizziness and nausea. At some point they poured something over his wound, it smelled oddly sweet and felt sticky. It also sent a burning lance of pain through his whole body. 

But he did not flinch once. He did not cry out in pain. He did not shed one tear.

Eventually, his wound was closed, cleaned, and wrapped. They gave him a sling and offered him another bottle.

“It is only water,” The healer promised. Damian took a few sips, but even that made his nausea spike.

“You will rest here, so that we can monitor for fever,” The healer told him.

Damian felt a spike of adrenaline course through his exhausted body. He looked around the healing chambers. It was a large room with high ceilings and many doors. There were a few beds against a far wall, all very easy to see and very easy to approach.

It would take extreme exhaustion for him to fall asleep in such a place.

"Is there-" Damian hesitated to ask. Shame burned through him. But he was tired and still in a great deal of pain. It would not serve him to delay healing. "Is there a different place I could rest? Quieter? Less….public?"

The two women exchanged a few quick words.

“If you would allow one of us to sit with you, you may return to your rooms.”

Damian grudgingly agreed. He was watched throughout the night. He didn’t sleep, but he also didn’t form any fever or other sign of infection. So the next day he was left alone, with a healer to check in on him periodically. They brought him food for the first couple days after the incident. 

By the fifth day he was anxious to get out of his rooms. His arm was still weak, the healers told him to keep it in the sling. It made it difficult to wear his full kit. He began to leave his rooms, though he still kept to himself as he walked around the main village.

One of the field instructors, Calliope, approached him anyway.

“I am glad to see you up,” She told him simply.

Damian nodded.

“If you are up to it, I would like to speak with you. Regarding your continued participation in our training.”

Damian grit his teeth together. He had been wondering when his mistake would be formally punished. Calliope led him into a building that houses weapons and chariot storage. She led him into a small room inside, with chairs and a couch, along with several shelves filled with scrolls.

Calliope sat in one of the chairs and motioned for Damian to do the same. He hesitantly complied.

“I understand you are still recovering from your injury,” Calliope began, “And as such I would not have you resume training until you have been cleared by our healers to do so.”

She waited until Damian nodded before continuing.

“In addition to that, I am adding in some other restrictions. You are no longer permitted to spar with live edges, and whoever spars with you must use our break-away practice weapons. This excludes you from our larger scale drills.”

Damian gripped his good hand into a fist. He glared at her.

Calliope raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you have any thoughts on my restrictions?”

Damian scoffed, “ _ -tt-  _ I am not some novice who needs to be coddled.”

Calliope stared at him, face even, “No. I have seen you train. You are skilled. You are also mortal. And a child.”

Damian stood up from his chair, “I am not a child!”

Calliope didn’t react, remaining calmly sitting, “Perhaps not by your people’s standards. Here, to us, you are a youth.”

“My age should have nothing to do with this,” Damian fumed, “I have been training with live steel and real blades since I could walk. To bar me from such is an insult to my-”

“I have meant no insult,” Calliope interrupted. “I am not only thinking about  _ your _ well-being in this decision. It would be unfair to ask any of my sisters to spar with you, knowing they are not properly trained how to safely engage without injuring you.”

Damian glared at her, “You act as if injuring me is a detriment to them.”

“It is.” Calliope said simply, “Accidents happen, we are warriors. But while in training it is my responsibility to ensure everyone's safety. And that includes protecting their hearts. We take pride in our ability to fight and defend. It would be cruel to order someone to fight you knowing they could maim you. You are not our enemy, you are a guest in our care. I would not injure a sister's heart to fulfill your need for violence.”

Damian bristled at that. “I am not seeking to be maimed. But _ I _ at least have the stomach to face mistakes and learn from them. Do not think me ignorant because of my age. I have seen, received, and done far worse than this.” Damian gestured with his injured arm.

“I  _ do _ think you are ignorant.” Calliope responded, “I think you are ill-taught. You speak of your injury- your possible mutilation as if it is something to be expected. As if it is a certainty you must simply endure. As if it is a known and unchangeable part of the world. It is not.”

Calliope stood, keeping her posture open, and not approaching Damian.

“Yes, there is violence in the world, and yes sometimes there is no completely safe way to prepare for it. But that should be an exception, an outlier. Not a baseline.”

Calliope smiled sadly at Damian, “You speak of learning from this mistake, and I have. I have learned that our training needs to be further adjusted to accommodate you. And I have learned that you are unaccustomed to being accommodated. To the point of taking insult. I am not making this decision to somehow slight you, I am making it to better serve you and my sisters. My decision will be enforced.”

Calliope turned and walked to the shelves along the far wall. She ran her hands over the labels and idly looked around before turning back to face Damian.

“If that kindness and consideration makes you feel threatened, I am sorry for it. But I will not show you cruelty just to comfort your understanding of the world.”

Damian glared and stormed out of the room.


	3. Feast and Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: descriptions of butchering livestock, panic attacks, self-harm, hypothermia

There was a special event on the island. A festival, to honor the harvest and to celebrate the passing of seasons. Damian was invited to join in the festivities.

There were a few games of sorts. Contests and feats performed. Races, displays of skill, displays of ridiculousness. There was one event where the participants had to compete to see who could keep an egg balanced on their nose the longest. Damian almost won that one. 

The fun made way for more serious rituals as the day wore on. Dishes were being prepared on fires and outdoor ovens. Sweet smelling sauces, fresh wheat rolls and barely cakes, and platters of fruit were all set out. The Amazons wandered about, sampling the food, drinking wine and other spirits. 

Altars were decorated. They were to various gods. Damian recognized most of them. Flowers and food and pieces of art and alcohol were placed as offerings. Damian steered clear of them.

Damian found himself in the courtyard where temporary pens had been set up. Goats, pigs, and three cows were all corralled in the plaza. They had been adorned in strings of flowers. Some of them were chewing on their adornments. 

Apphia found him next to the goat pen. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Damian shrugged. The games earlier had been challenging, but in an enjoyable way. Even his dashed victory at the balance sport hadn’t stung. It was a ridiculous thing to win, so he felt alright with not being the best on the island.

“I see you have an admirer.” Apphia smiled as she pointed behind him.

Damian turned to see one of the goats straining to reach him through the pen’s walls. It was trying to chew on his tunic. Damian scoffed and shooed the animal away.

“How is your arm?” Apphia asked.

Damian flexed his left hand. There was still a lingering stiffness.

“I am fully recovered.” Damian stated stiffly.

“That’s good to hear,” Apphia smiled. She gestured to the pens. “I’m sure tonight’s feast will be a grand one. Tell me, do you have festivals like this at your home?”

Damian thought of Nanda Parbat. Of the grand halls and the holidays that had been celebrated there. He thought of Gotham. He hadn’t been there long enough to partake in any celebration. 

He wondered if he would have, if there had been one to partake in.

“There are many holidays.” Damian replied simply. He looked out over the pens. “Are all of these to be eaten tonight?”

Apphia nodded, “Some will go to the altars. And most will be cured and stored. But yes, some of them will be tonight’s feast. These are the young males of their herds who aren’t being kept as breeding stock. Next week we will cull the flocks in a similar manner.”

Apphia gave Damian a look, “Have you ever butchered an animal before?”

Damian was tempted to say yes, out of habit. But in truth he had never butchered an animal to eat it. He had slain beasts, in trials. He had fished and trapped bugs during his survival training. He had culled criminals and prisoners of the League. 

“Not any of these animals.” Damian said.

“Would you like to join us? It is quite a process. And a good skill to learn.”

Damian looked at the goat who had reached for him. It bleated at him and shook its head. Its ears flopped around.

“I will.” Damian set his jaw.

The plaza ran red with blood. Damian was with Apphia, learning as she showed him how to cut and divide a pig. She explained what parts were used for what dishes, how they would be cured and stored. She set him to cleaning and soaking the intestines. For use in making sausages.

The air was heavy with the iron metallic taste. Damian was careful to follow Apphia’s directions. His hands shook- no, they _slipped_ on the guts he was handling. The guts were still warm.

The crack of bones was all around him. The popping of joints as legs were separated. The slice of knives through flesh. The cool water he laid the intestines in was sapping the warmth from them.

“Damian?” Apphia nudged his shoulder.

Damian whipped his head up to look at her. She had blood on her forearms, a knife held loosely in her hand.

“I asked how you were doing,” Apphia told him. “If you’ve got the intestines cleaned, you can carry them over to that table there. That’s where they’ll be stuffed.”

Damian clenched his jaw. He lifted the basin and carried it across the plaza. The stones beneath his feet were slick. Damian’s gaze drifted over the other carcasses being butchered. The snap of ribs, the cracking of a spine, the drip of blood surrounded him.

“Set down.” A heavily accented voice spoke to him.

Damian blinked, and set his basin where he was directed. The table before him held many boards. Women were chopping and pounding meat; others were adding in seasonings and stuffing the mixture into other casings. 

“Sit.” The voice cut through Damian’s thoughts.

The woman who had spoken was pointing to a stool next to the table. She pointed again. Damian sat.

“Measure. Tie.” She held up the stuffed intestines. She showed him how long each link should be, and how to tie them off. And then she left him to it.

Damian assisted those at the table to process the sausages. He kept his hands busy, measuring and tying. Helping to wind the long chords and place them on nearby racks. Low burning and smoking fires were lit under the racks.

Eventually the sounds of breaking bones faded. 

Apphia found him again, sitting next to the smoking racks. He had been given a fan and told how to keep the flames at the proper height.

“I see you’ve been busy.” Apphia crouched next to him. “You seemed a little pale before. Actually, you still seem pale. Are you alright?”

Damian swallowed hard. “I am fine.”

The air was smokey enough right next to the racks to choke out the tinge of iron. 

“Well, the feast is being served.” Apphia sounded skeptical. “I will keep the fire while you fill a plate.”

She held her hand out for the fan. Damian gripped it tightly.

“Unless there’s something wrong?”

“ _-tt-_ ” Damian scoffed. 

He shoved the fan into Apphia’s hand. He stormed off towards the feast tables. They were across the plaza. Most of the butchering had finished, replaced with women salting and rubbing the cuts of meat. Damian wove his way through and past them. Damian kept his eyes fixed on the feast tables. Even with the smells of the different seasonings, the overwhelming scent was still bloody.

His sandal slipped on a stone. Damian tried to catch himself, but the whole plaza was still slick with the blood and water used to clean the animals. He fell on his side, catching himself roughly with his hurt arm. 

Blood splashed up and over him, splattering across his tunic, legs, arms, and face. It was still warm.

Damian scrambled to his feet. He wiped at his arms, his tunic. His white tunic, now soaked- _soaking_ and becoming a deep dark red.

Damian could smell it, feel it, taste it.

Someone was walking towards him, hand outstretched. Damian’s hands shook. He ran. His feet slipped and slid on the stones, but he still ran. He rushed past the milling crowd and kept running. He could still taste it. He felt like he was breathing it.

At some point he stopped running. Somewhere away from the sounds of the crowd and the fires and the festival. His legs were shaking. He was gulping for air. He could still taste it, the blood in his mouth.

Damian almost threw up. He sat there, on the grassy ground for an unknown amount of time, just breathing through the horrible feelings.

The sun was setting past the ever-present wall of fog that surrounded the island. It turned the western sky to brilliant colors. It reminded Damian of fire.

Damian was next to a river. He recognized it as being slightly north of the bend the Amazons used for washing. The river was gently burbling along, the air around it cooling as the evening turned darker.

Damian could feel the blood on him congealing. Becoming sticky and tacky and causing his skin to itch. He stood, set his weapons well out of reach of the water’s edge, and waded into the river. He stripped off his stained tunic and threw it onto the bank. He scrubbed at his arms, his legs, his face. The water around him grew clouded with faint red, before briskly flowing downstream.

It helped a little.

Damian sat down on the river bed, his head just barely above the water. The water was cool, growing colder as the sky darkened. His limbs began to sting from the chill, his body shook. It felt better than before, somehow. Damian couldn’t bring himself to stand up and walk out.

He was being so _weak._ He was an assassin. His entire purpose was to kill. But helping to butcher livestock sent him into this state? Pathetic. 

Damian’s teeth chattered. He grit his jaw tight.

He’d felt worse cold. He’d endured worse. This was nothing. It was nothing to him. It should be nothing to him. Like the animals. Like the beasts he had slain in trials. Like the fish and bugs he’d eaten to survive before. Like the criminals and prisoners he’d executed. Culled. Killed.

He was not this _weak._ He would not be this weak. He would stay in the river until he could control himself again. No matter how much the cold hurt.

A light approached from the western bank. There were soft bleating noises coming closer. And then splashes.

Someone was calling to him, fast and in ancient Greek. He missed the meaning.

Damian opened his eyes. On the western bank of the river there was a herd of goats. They were at the river’s edge, drinking. A woman was wading through the river towards him, a staff with a swinging lantern on it, held aloft.

She grabbed him, a strong calloused hand clamping hard around his arm, and hauled him out of the water. She was saying something, sounded like she was swearing, but Damian couldn’t parse her words. She dragged him up and onto the eastern bank. She drove her staff into the ground, stabilizing the light.

She knelt as she set Damian on the ground, not letting go of his arm. She grabbed his face, turning it towards the light. Damian tried to break her grip, to strike her and escape. But his arms were numb from the cold, his whole body was wracked with shivers. He ended up flailing ineffectually at her.

She tsk’ed her tongue at him. She held him with one hand, unfastened her cloak with her other, and wrapped him in the warm wool. She said something to him, but he didn’t understand.

“S-st-stop t-touching m-m-me!” Damian ground out, “Unha-hand m-m-me!”

She clicked her tongue again and tucked the cloak tighter around him. She spoke in Latin then, slowly, and Damian could understand her.

“You’re chatty for a half frozen fish.” She grabbed a wine-skin from her belt and held it out to him. “Here. Drink. It’ll warm you up from the inside.”

Damian pursed his lips. He made no move to grab the offered wine-skin.

“Oh, a stupid fish, too.” She uncorked the wine-skin and took a swing herself. “But that is obvious. Stupid to do what you were doing.”

“Y-you d-don’t know wh-what I c-can handle,” Damian replied in Latin. “I w-was doing f-fine until you acc-ccosted m-me!”

She glared at him. “You are cold, and not thinking clearly. Sit there. I will make a fire.”

She stood and whistled loudly. The goats bleated and Damian could hear dogs barking. They seemed to be settling down on the opposite bank. It was getting too dark to see clearly. The woman walked off, away from the light of her lantern. Damian could hear her wading back across the river. There were more whistles. And then he could hear her returning.

She came back into view of the lantern light with an enormous dog slung across her shoulders. She knelt and the dog dismounted. She spoke to him in sharp clipped words, and the dog ran over to Damian, circled him twice, and then butted into his chest. Damian was knocked over flat, and the dog laid itself across his chest, pinning him down.

“G-get your st-stupid mutt off of m-me!” Damian shouted.

“Now you will stay put.” The woman replied. “I will be back, fish.”

The dog stayed on top of him, panting. The dog watched the woman disappear from the light again. 

Damian struggled for a bit, but his cold-clumsy limbs weren’t enough to dislodge the dog. It was practically a bear with how huge it was. It was heavy, and warm. Eventually Damian gave up, letting his head rest back on the grassy ground. The dog laid its giant head on Damian’s shoulder.

Damian’s head hurt. His limbs were stinging as they regained feeling. It was hard to breathe under the weight of the dog. The lantern glowed warmly above him, with the faint bleats echoing from the far bank in the dark night.


	4. A Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian contains multitudes. He can have hypothermia and be hot headed at the same time!

The woman returned with sticks and logs and set to building a fire. She only called her dog off when she had the flames steady. Damian grumbled, but sat himself close to the fire. She offered her wine skin again.

Damian scoffed, “Alcohol does not warm you up. It opens your blood vessels and actually causes you to lose more body heat.”

The woman blinked at him, “Well. Perhaps this fish is not so stupid afterall.”

“I am not a fish!” Damian hissed at her, “My name is Damian Al Gh- Damian  _ Wayne. _ ”

“I know who you are,” The woman took a swig from her wineskin. “You are that boy our sister Cassandra tasked us with watching.”

Damian eyed the woman. The large dog was now laying across her lap, enjoying getting his ears scratched. The woman was only in a thin cloth chitton, since giving Damian her cloak. But she seemed unbothered by the cold of the night.

“You know Cain?” Damian asked. His mother had not told him Cassandra had such close ties to the Amazons. But maybe they used the term sister loosely.

The woman looked at him, confused. “I know no Cain. I speak of our sister, Cassandra Sandsmark. Diana’s apprentice.”

Damian felt a new chill rush down his spine. He was here because  _ Wondergirl  _ had arranged it? Cain had told him that she had called in a favor. If he was here by Wondergirl’s will- that boded ill for him. She was a close ally of Drake. She had no reason to do Damian any favors. 

Maybe this whole trip hadn’t been a gift, but a test all along. Had Cain sent him here to challenge him? To see how quickly he would see through her lies? To test his abilities to escape and return to them? He had been so stupid to believe her. To think anyone would do something for him out of a simple desire to do so.

Or was this her way of getting rid of him? He’d already been severely injured once. Perhaps he was sent here to die under 'accidental' circumstances. But- no. That didn’t line up with how the Amazons were treating him. If they wanted to kill him, they would have just let him bleed out. 

“You look like you’re having a rough night,” The woman’s voice broke through Damian’s thoughts.

Damian glared at her, “I am fine.”

The woman shook her head, “I know how to read a heavy heart. Speak. What troubles you?”

“Nothing troubles me!” Damian yelled at her. "My heart is not heavy! I am a warrior, and in complete control of myself! If anything is troubling me it is your inane prattling and your unwanted tending!”

If she was offended by his words she didn’t show it. The woman just continued to stare at him.

“I found your chitton by the river bank. And your weapons.” The woman pointed back outside of the reach of the firelight. “There was a lot of blood on them. But you seem uninjured.”

Damian grit his teeth. 

The woman raised an eyebrow, “Care to tell me where all that blood came from?”

“It was your people’s festival. Do you not even know your own customs?” Damian sneered.

“Ah,” The woman nodded, “They slaughtered the larger animals tonight. Were you a part of that?”

Damian didn’t answer.

The woman sighed, “Was that why you were as I found you in the river? Did it disturb you? That much blood.”

“Shut up.” Damian snapped. “I am not some coward. I have killed many creatures, beasts. I have slain criminals and executed prisoners. The sight of blood does not _ disturb _ me. It means nothing to me.”

The woman tilted her head to the side as she studied him. The fire crackled between them. The dog’s tail thumped quietly against the ground.

“Do you know how to care for things? To tend to livestock?” She asked.

Damian scoffed, “I have never done such menial tasks. I am heir to the Demon’s Head. Such things are beneath me.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised. “So you are incapable of it.”

“There is nothing I am incapable of.” Damian said.

The woman hummed to herself, “I don’t believe that. I see you, quick to anger and trained to kill. You are wholly unsuited for the demands of caregiving. It requires patience and restraint and well,  _ care. _ Those traits appear quite beyond your limited capabilities.”

“You insult me?” Damian rose to his feet. His legs felt heavy and unwieldy under him, but he kept his posture from betraying that.

“I challenge you,” The woman smiled at him. “Prove to me you are as you say. That there is nothing you are incapable of. One month. Tend to our herds and flocks with me and my sisters. Show me. If you can.”

Damian glared at her, “Why would I lower myself to such peasants’ work?”

The woman leaned forward. “If you best my challenge, I will give to you our most prized bull. It is usually a gift we present to the gods themselves. A high tribute.”

The woman leaned back and shrugged, “But if you don’t think yourself up to the task, by all means, concede to my estimation of you.”

Damian gripped his hands into fists. “I accept your challenge. You had best find yourselves another tribute. That bull is mine.”

“We shall see.” The woman smiled at him. “Ah, where are my manners? I didn’t introduce myself. I am Kore.”


	5. Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: accidental injury to an animal

Damian hated the smell. He could handle the early hours, the long and boring time spent just watching animals graze, even the impatient instruction from Kore. He'd dealt with early hours before. As a part of his training he'd had to endure days on end without sleep. He could be patient and use the long hours shepherding the herds to meditate and even do a bit of personal training. Kore was sharp and had very little patience for him, but she was hardly the worst instructor Damian had had to suffer. 

And he was fairly certain he wouldn't be expected to kill her once she was done training him. Which was a nice change.

But the smell. Damian had always known that animals were smelly and gross and tending them was disgusting work. That was why he had never done it before. It was beneath him.

After four days of shadowing Kore, learning the dogs' commands, and memorizing the herd's rotation pattern, he was finally left completely alone for the day's work.

He got up early and dressed in a warm cloak. He filled his wine skin with water and packed away some dried fruit and bread. He went to the paddock. 

The goats were mostly still asleep, their guardian dogs with them. Damian went about checking their numbers. 26. The same as the day before. 

Damian went into the shed that was next to the paddock. He retrieved the dried meat and fish for the dogs' breakfasts. He also grabbed his shepherd's crook. 

Kore had made him make his own, but forbade him from attaching any blades. He had basically just grabbed a branch and removed its bark. Kore had told him to attach bells.

"It scares off some predators. And scavengers." She had told him, "Plus the goats recognize the sound."

He went to the paddock, placing the dogs' food in their trough. He waited until they'd finished before giving a sharp whistle and opening the paddock's gate. The dogs helped steer the goats out and into the closest field. Damian walked along with them, guiding them towards the northern hills. Eventually they reached the area for the day, and Damian gave another whistle. The dogs switched from herded to guarding. The goats began to settle and graze.

Damian settled in for a boring day.

He passed the time by first meditating and then stretching and running through some forms. He ate some of his food and sat under a tree, still within sight of the herd. 

He idly drew one of his knives. He took his 'crook' and began carving into it. The basic shape of a dog, and then a few goats around it.

Damian stayed out there until the sun began its descent. He whistled and the dogs rounded up the herd. He walked them back across the hills, and secured them in the paddock. He went to get the dogs their evening food, placing it in their trough again. He counted the herd.

25.

Damian counted again. Still 25. His heart beat loudly in his chest. What was he supposed to do? He could not fail on his first day. He would not.

He racked his brain for all the different things Kore had taught him. The basic commands for the dogs. One of which was  _ find _ .

Damian called two of the dogs to him, and let them out of the paddock. He secured it, and then gave them the hand sign to follow. Damian took off running, the dogs on his heels. 

He made it back to the northern hills. He took a second to catch his breath, and then signaled the dogs to find.

They both took a while, sniffing around, twisting their ears back and forth. But then one of them barked and took off, the other one following behind. Damian ran after them, following their barks as the dogs raced ahead.

They led him into a copse of trees that became a small forest, winding towards the northern shore. The dogs were ahead still, barking loudly. Damian followed and finally cleared the trees.

The northern shore was a rocky drop off. It was a good hundred feet down to the sand. Damian spotted the dogs towards the cliff edge. They were looking over the side, barking.

Damian whistled for them to stop. They looked up at him, wagging their tails.

"Yes, yes, good dogs," Damian said as he approached them. Kore had told him to praise them whenever he didn't have food as an immediate reward. He pat their heads and looked over the cliffside.

About twenty feet down was his missing goat. It bleated up at him.

"I hate you," Damian grumbled. "You're a goat! Climb back up here!"

Damian jingled the bells on his crook. The goat just bleated again. Damian scoffed. He went to the trees and broke off a branch. He held it over the cliff side, shaking the leaves towards the goat. It seemed interested and began to climb, but one of its legs buckled, landing it back on its outcropping. It bleated again.

"Of course," Damian grit his teeth, "Of course you went and injured yourself on a cliff face. You stupid animal."

It bleated up at him.

Damian weighed his options. The goat was one of the smaller ones, only about 70 pounds. He was certain he could carry its weight up the cliff just fine, but he didn't know if the animal would be calm enough to allow him to carry it.

He could go back to the village and ask for help. Kore could probably lift the goat single-handedly. But that would mean he would have to tell her of his failure. 

The dogs sat next to him, looking down the cliff face. One of them whined.

"I know!" Damian huffed. "I know the stupid goat is stuck."

Damian tried to figure out which would be worse, telling Kore he had failed to watch the flock and needed her help, or telling her he had tried to retrieve the goat on his own and ended up loosing it over the cliff.

Damian knew the goat was important. Kore had told him how many things the Amazon used came from the goats. Meat, milk, cheese, leather, even some fiber was used for spinning- and each goat was a resource that took years to grow and maintain. 

Damian was...mostly certain she'd be madder if he lost the goat. With that in mind, Damian commanded the dogs to stay and guard. He took off back toward the village, cutting marks onto trees as he passed, marking the path back to the right cliff.

He ran back, his feet pounding as his heart beat loudly in his ears. When he had accepted Kore's challenge, he hadn't anticipated failing. He was unsure what sort of punishment he would receive.

Damian went to the house closest to the paddocks. He banged on the door. 

"Kore! Kore!"

It took a moment for Kore to answer. 

"What is it, fish?"

Damian bristled at the name, but didn't comment. "One of the goats is hurt. It's a ways down a cliff face. I can not retrieve it without risking it falling-"

Kore nodded. She ducked back into her house and came out with a large blanket and a coil of rope. She also grabbed her crook with a lantern. 

"Take me there."

Damian led her back. He followed his marks back to the cliff side. The two dogs barked as they rounded the last cluster of trees.

Kore whistled to them. The dogs backed up from the cliffside. Kore handed Damian her crook.

"Keep the light steady." 

Damian nodded. 

Kore scaled down to the goat. She balanced on the small outcropping as she wrapped the goat in the large blanket and then secured it with the rope. She hauled the rope over her shoulder, goat hanging from her back, and climbed back up.

Kore took her crook back. She whistled to the dogs and they followed her back into the trees. 

Damian stood for a moment on the cliffside. His grip on his crook white knuckled. 

He followed her back to the village.

When they got back, Kore brought the goat into her house. She whistled to the dogs and they headed back to the paddock.

"Go and get me water from the well. And linens for bandages from the healers." Kore ordered him.

Damian took off. He hurried to gather the items and came back as fast as he could. Kore had the goat on the floor of her house, still mostly tied up in the blanket, with its injured leg sticking out.

"Get over here." Kore waved without looking at him.

Damian came to her side, setting the pitcher of water down and holding out the bandages.

"Got in there and fetch me the honey," She pointed deeper into her house. Damian went.

"Now listen," Kore addressed him, taking the honey from his hands. "This animal was yours to look after. She was injured because you didn't mind her close enough. Look at her leg."

Damian looked. The skin was scraped and bleeding lightly, a part of the bone was exposed.

"The bone isn't broken." Kore told him. "But the gash is deep. We need to clean it and dress it. And we need to not send her into shock while we do it. So we need to be fast and calm. I will clean the wound, you will hold her leg steady."

Damian nodded.

Together they managed to dress the wound. The goat bleated and yelled and struggled. Damian almost took a horn to the face, but they managed.

Kore stood, carrying the soiled rags with her. She went into a back room. Damian was left alone with the goat. 

It was still bleating, but more weakly. Damian reached out to pet her head, hoping to quiet her. She leaned into the touch and settled slightly. 

Kore came back. "We'll know if she's going to make it in the morning."

Damian looked up, "But she seems fine now."

Kore clicked her tongue, "She's been put through a lot. Most animals are not great at dealing with stress, especially stress from a wound. She could still go into shock and die, or her wound could be infected. Or she could have hit her head when she fell, or her side, and the damage inside of her will send her into shock."

Damian looked back at the goat. Her sideways pupils stared back at him.

"You are going to stay here tonight and watch her," Kore told him. 

Damian tensed. "What am I watching her for?"

Kore knelt down and reached over to pet the goats head. "Her breathing might get rapid or shallow. Her gums might turn pale. And she might feel cold to the touch. If any of those happen, come wake me."

Damian nodded, "Those are signs of her going into shock?"

Kore nodded, "We will ease her passing, if it comes to it."

Damian grit his teeth. He knew shock was treatable in humans, so he reasoned it must be so for animals. But there wasn't any modern medical equipment on the island. So they wouldn't be able to treat it as effectively. Maybe not at all.

Kore left.

Damian settled in, sitting close enough to keep a hand on the goat’s head. She seemed to calm after a while, laying her head on his lap.

Damian thought of his forthcoming punishment. He was sure it would be worse if the goat didn’t survive. But he had no way of effecting that now. He just had to wait, the minutes trickling past, to see if she would survive. His fate was left up to chance and the constitution of an animal. It terrified him.

How severe was the punishment for injuring an animal? And how much more severe was it for getting an animal killed?

Damian thought back to some of his previous punishments. Most of the punishments he’d endured before had been physical. But the Amazon’s had seemed at odds with causing him injury, so perhaps they would go another route. Denying him food? It was possible, even fitting, seeing as he had failed to protect a food source. It didn’t seem likely that they would send him out into the elements, the island was so temperate and lovely, it would hardly be a punishment.

They might isolate him, lock him somewhere. But there weren’t any jails or prisons as far as he was aware on the island. Confining him to his rooms didn’t seem like it would be much of a punishment.

The goat stirred. She shifted in the blanket, complaining loudly when she jostled her injured leg. 

Damian hurried to calm her, he pet her head, spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Shhh, shhh, calm down. Calm down. You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine. You  _ have  _ to be okay. Shhh.”

She seemed to like his voice. Her movements settled back down. She flicked her ear at him.

Damian kept up a stream of words. He spoke calmly, keeping his petting even. He ran out of platitudes quickly, so he switched to stories. Legends his mother had told him, of myths and history alike. Whatever he could think of to keep talking, and keep the goat calm.

Hours passed.

The goat actually seemed to fall asleep. Damian kept his hand on her neck, tracking her breathing and pulse. He didn’t stop talking. It reminded him vaguely of the legend of Šahrazād, telling tales through the night to stave off an execution, to ward off death. 

The sun rose slowly outside, gentle light spilling through the windows. Eventually, Kore woke and came back into the room. She gave Damian and the goat a once over.

“She still breathing?” Kore asked quietly.

Damian nodded.

Kore sighed, “Alright. Stay with her until she wakes. Then we shall move her to a stall next to the paddocks. She will be calmer if she is close to her herd.”

By mid-morning they had her set up in the stall. Damian was tasked to stay with her, get her water and try to get her to eat a little, but watch her in case she took a turn for the worse. He spent the day minding her, petting her head and neck, bringing her clean water, keeping the straw in the stall clean.

She didn’t stand all day, which Damian thought was wise. The less she stressed her leg, the quicker it would heal.

Kore returned with the herd in the evening. She shut them up in the paddock and came over to the stall.

“How is she?”

“Fine,” Damian told her, “She ate and drank. She’s been resting.”

Kore bent over to pet the goat’s head. She hummed under her breath. 

“What about you? Have you eaten at all?”

Damian shook his head, “No. I didn't leave her side. I minded her, as I was tasked.”

Kore sighed, “And what good are you to her if you pass out? Go and get food. I will watch her.”

Damian almost protested, he had gone far longer before without food. But he didn’t want to upset Kore by disagreeing with her. 

They kept to that schedule for a few days. Damian watched the goat during the day and stayed with her at night. Kore would watch her for a while after returning from grazing the herd, and Damian would get enough food for himself to make it to the next day. He wasn’t sleeping, and Kore confronted him about it on the fourth day.

“You don’t have to watch her the whole night anymore.” Kore pointed out, “Her wound is closing fine.”

Damian clenched his jaw. “I am fine. She is calmer when I am here. It’s helping her heal faster.”

Kore just looked at him. He bristled under her stare.

Kore sighed, “Fine. Stay with her, but sleep.”

Damian scoffed, “I am fine. I have gone much longer than this before without-”

“Either you sleep or I bar you from the stall.” Kore threatened.

Damian glared up at her. He still hadn’t been punished. He was still waiting for Kore to deal with him. But he figured she was waiting to see how the goat fared, if she recovered or not. Damian didn’t want to upset Kore further.

“I will sleep in the stall.” He acquiesced. 

Damian laid awake that night, the goat’s head heavy on his lap. He wondered what his mother would think of him, and his current situation. She would probably be ashamed, probably demand Damian simply kill the goat and accept his punishment like a proud warrior. 

Damian pat the goat’s neck and listened to her breathing deeply as she slept.

“If I am Šahrazād, then you are Dunyazad,” He told the goat. “But you should not take that as permission to take a thousand nights to heal.”

Damian closed his eyes and let himself sleep.


	6. Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: vomiting. It's not graphic, but it's there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next bit runs concurrent with chapter 25 of "Crisis".

As the injured goat got back on her feet, Damian went back to shepherding the herd. He was a lot more attentive, and counted the herd multiple times while they were out grazing. 

Kore hadn’t leveled any punishment for his mistake. Damian spent a lot of the time he was out with the herd thinking about it. 

Maybe he would be evaluated at the end of the agreed upon month. And his failures would be addressed then. Maybe the work he had put into nursing the injured goat back to health had worked in his favor. Maybe he had already failed her challenge and she was withholding telling him that so he would keep working for her.

The now-healed goat, who Damian only referred to as Dunyazad in his head, would stick close to him while grazing. She would even sometimes butt her head against him, only leaving once she had received pets. Damian found it annoying, but quickly came to just accept it. She was persistent and no amount of him ignoring her would dissuade her.

He was three weeks into his challenge when the island got an unusual visit.

He had been heading back from the cooking hall in the plaza, with some food to pack away for tomorrow’s shepherding. The sky crackled, like thunder. But there was no lightning. 

Something was falling from the sky- heading right towards the plaza. The Amazons who were around noticed, and ran up to meet the thing. No- a person.

As they got within the light of the torches and fire pits, Damian could see the blonde hair. It wasn't just one person- the blonde was carrying someone.

She touched down, Damian recognized her. He hadn't ever seen her in person before, but her bracers were the last piece to click into place in his mind.

_ WonderGirl _ . 

"Please- I don't know what they did to him- he's shaking so bad-" WonderGirl addressed the Amazons around her.

Damian couldn't quite see who was in her arms, he was at the wrong angle. He could only see the bare feet dangling on one side and the dark hair on the other.

WonderGirl and her cargo were whisked away, in the direction of the healing halls. 

Damian felt curious. He didn't like being kept in the dark, and although he was wary of WonderGirl, she was also the one responsible for him being on the island. More information would help him get a better idea of her, maybe even give him something to use.

Damian melded into the shadows. He wound a long path around to the back of the healing halls. And then further in, going from chamber to chamber until he heard them. He crept to the doorway, and listened.

He heard WonderGirl.

“Tim- Tim look at me. Oh, shit. Your pupils are huge. Did they give you something?”

Damian gripped his hands into fists. Tim? Drake? What on earth was going on?

Damian listened as Drake slurred his words.

“Um, I think- my neck. There was a needle? Or a small knife….something to knock me out, limbs went numb. Very fast acting. Mouth feels kind of chalky ….water?”

Drake was drugged? By who? And why was he  _ here _ ?

WonderGirl spoke to the healers, asking what to do. Damian risked peeking around the doorway. He saw the healers bringing blankets and water. WonderGirl was kneeling by one of the daybeds, practically holding Drake up. He looked bad- pale, shaking, many tiny cuts and burns on his skin. Drake's eyes were unfocused, his gaze not aimed at anything in particular.

The healers were feeling his forehead, checking his pulse on his wrist. 

"Is there anything else you can tell us about what he was given?" One of the healers asked WonderGirl.

“Tim- Tim, ” WonderGirl pat Drake's cheek to get his attention. “Talk to me. You look really pale. Like more than normal-”

Drake pushed WonderGirl aside as he emptied his stomach onto the floor. The effort seemed to sap whatever energy Drake had left. He would have fallen off the daybed if WonderGirl hadn't been holding him up.

Damian retreated from the doorway. He sat on the stone floor, listening to the healers fuss and tend to Drake. He sat there for a long time, just listening. 

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He didn't know if he was supposed to do anything.

Drake had been his target, back when he had first come to Gotham and his father's household. He was the closest in age to him, the least secure in his place in his father's ranks. An interloper and supposedly the first obstacle in his way to being his father's sole heir.

But that hadn't worked. He'd just gotten himself banished to the apartment with Grayson as his warden. 

Damian didn't miss that apartment. He didn't miss Grayson. He didn't miss having a room with a door that locked. He didn't miss Grayson training with him, insisting that he try over processed American junk food, staying up with him at night when he got restless… He didn't miss Cassandra and Brown visiting him at night, or taking him shopping for clothes and art supplies, or bringing him greasy take out from a place they had passed during patrol.

He didn't miss any of it. It had just been another obstacle.

A useless obstacle. Because his father was dead. And his goal to train with and succeed him was so far out of his reach now. He'd been banished to this island at the whim of one of Drake's allies-

Damian remembered Cassandra telling him this trip was a gift. She had seemed so...openly honest. Like she had no need to lie about anything. 

Like Grayson had seemed. Almost bleeding the need to be sincere.

Damian sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his arms balanced on top and his face laid on them. He didn't want to think about Grayson or Cassandra or Brown or  _ Drake. _ He didn't know what to think about them. They were obstacles, threats, imbeciles, interlopers.

He didn't want to think about any of it.

"-of Assassins. I don't know what they wanted."

Damian's head snapped up. WonderGirl was speaking again.

"They took him. They had him for over an hour. I don't know how many there were or how he got away, but he escaped and I found him and he was so panicked. He said that Ra's himself was there in Rome. We had to run."

Damian's breath caught in his throat. His grandfather had been there- was the cause of Drake's illness and injury? He had captured Drake? Why? And how had Drake escaped?

"I know I'm not supposed to bring outsiders here, but I couldn't think of where else to go-"

"Hush, now," A healer told her, "You are safe here, as is your friend. We will do what we can for him. He should rest, and you should as well."

Damian listened but no further conversation was had. 

Damian crept out of the chambers and back to his rooms. He stored the food he had brought and laid down in his bed. He didn't manage to fall asleep.

Damian eventually gave up on his bed. He grabbed his provisions and headed out. It was some hours before he'd be due at the paddocks. He headed back to the healers' halls.

He snuck back to his earlier position, waiting a room back to listen in.

No one was speaking. Damian crept closer and peered around the doorway. WonderGirl was sitting next to the day bed that held a sleeping Drake. He still looked pale and was panting in his sleep.

WonderGirl's head came up and Damian couldn't duck away fast enough.

"Hey- wait-"

Damian considered running. But he knew WonderGirl would be more than capable of catching up. He took a defensive stance as she came through the doorway.

"Oh," She said, "It is you."

She looked tired, her hair was messy and her posture was slumping. Her eyes blinked slowly.

Damian didn't respond. 

"Um, hey, you grew up in the League, right?" She asked.

Damian raised an eyebrow. 

WonderGirl sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. "Right, stupid question. What I meant to ask is- are you familiar with League poisons? Like could you identify them from someone's symptoms?"

Damian narrowed his eyes. "I know every poison utilized by the League of Assassins. The only symptom you would need to identify them is death."

WonderGirl blinked at him. "Do any of those take more than 10 hours to work?"

Damian thought about it. Nothing came to mind. Most of the poisons used would be effective in minutes. There were very few that took an hour, and none of those induced vomiting.

"No." Damian told her, "If he had been poisoned, he would already be dead."

WonderGirl looked back towards where Drake was sleeping. Her expression was dismayed.

"Are you sure it’s not some sort of poison?”

Damian scoffed, “-  _ tt _ \- If it was poison designed to kill, he would be dead. It is most likely a case of improper dosage. Too much of a paralyzing agent for someone his size or his weight, and his body overreacting to it.”

“But what if-”

“You said they separated him from you, yes?"

WonderGirl gave him a look, but nodded.

"Then they were not trying to assassinate him. They wouldn’t bother to move him to another location to then slowly poison him over the course of hours. It is ridiculous to think so.”

“Fine then, how do we fix him?”

Damian bristled under her glare. He held his chin out, refusing to break eye contact. 

“I am not a healer.”

WonderGirl snorted, "No, you're not."

Damian glared back at her. She matched him, staring him down.

She blinked first.

"What are you even doing here?" She asked.

Damian clenched his fists. "What am I-?! You're the one who trapped me here! You're the one who orchestrated this whole farce of a test!"

"What?" WonderGirl seemed taken genuinely aback. "Hey, you being here was not my idea. Cass asked me for a favor and I owed her. If you ask me, being sent to vacation on a paradise island is way more than you deserve."

Damian tried to read her, tried to see past her continuation of the farce. She was tired, and now angry. It should be easy to see past her words.

But Damian couldn't see a hint of falsehood. WonderGirl appeared perfectly sincere.

"Why?"

"Don't ask me!" WonderGirl rolled her eyes. "I don't know why any of them care about you. Even fucking Tim was worrying about you."

WonderGirl exhaled heavily and stormed back into the other room. 

Damian was left standing alone, feeling very, very confused.


	7. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still running concurrent to Chapter 25 of Crisis.

Damian sat on the grass. Dunyazad was laying next to him, her head in his lap to better receive pets. The sun was bright overhead, the day was beautiful and the breeze was calmly rustling the grass. Damian was lost in thought

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he had been wrong about a lot of things. Nothing ever seemed to make sense anymore. He missed his mother. He missed living with her in Nanda Parbat. He missed knowing what was expected of him and what he was supposed to do next.

His mother had always known what to tell him. Had known how to calm the questions in Damian’s heart. She was the one constant in his life. Or she had been.

Until she had sent him to his father. She said it was a test, a task, a mission. It was his inheritance, his birthright. Damian knew something had happened between her and Grandfather. He knew that he had been safer in Gotham, in his father’s house, than he would have been by her side. He knew that was at least a piece of why she had sent him away.

What was his Grandfather doing? Why had he appeared in Rome? Why capture Drake and then let him escape? Why had Drake even been in Rome? What was going on in Gotham? 

Damian didn’t know the answers to any of his questions. They went around and around in his head, settling heavy on his mind. WonderGirl’s words came back to him, echoing loudly in his memory.

She didn’t want him here on Themyscira. Cassandra Wayne really had arranged it. WonderGirl had called it a vacation. Cassandra had called it a gift.

Damian saw the herd put back in the paddocks for the night. He headed back to the plaza, grabbing more food for tomorrow, and crept over to the healer’s halls.

The room that had housed Drake was empty. 

Damian felt a pang of disappointment.

Damian retired to his rooms. He went through his forms and routines. And then tried to settle in to sleep. He couldn’t calm the questions. They just kept surfacing, dragging his focus to all of the things he didn’t know.

Damian sat up. He scrubbed his face with his hands. He would meditate. And then he would sleep. He was the master of himself, and he would not lose control of something as simple as sleep.

Damian went to his balcony. The fresh air would help center him. He parted the heavy curtains.

Drake was there. Not on his balcony, but the one to the right. He was wearing new clothes, was standing up under his own power.

Drake turned towards him. He was staring at Damian, blinking at him like he was doubting his vision.

Damian didn’t know what to do. Why was Drake here? If he was recovered why was he still on the island? Was WonderGirl still here as well?

Tim raised a hand and gave a small wave. Damian could see how stilted his posture was. He looked pale in the moonlight, with heavy bags under his eyes. So, not recovered then.

“What are you doing here?” Damian asked. He didn’t care how ignorant he sounded. He was so tired of not knowing why anything was happening.

Drake raised his hand to his face, a finger in front of his lips. He gestured back towards the building.

“I’m staying in Cassie’s room. She’s asleep.”

Damian shifted his gaze to the curtain. He hadn’t known that the rooms next to his were occupied. But if they belonged to WonderGirl, it made sense that they had been vacant.

“Are those your rooms?” Drake nodded towards Damian. 

“The ones I have been given,” Damian replied, his tone clipped. Drake hadn’t known?

Drake held his hands up, “I didn’t know. I don’t think Cassie did either. We’re not staying long.” 

Drake gave another small half wave as he turned to retreat back into Cassie’s room. His gait was shaky. He seemed to be in a fair amount of pain. Damian watched him shuffle back towards the curtains. He felt his questions pressing against his mind. He wanted answers.

“You saw my grandfather?” Damian asked, striding to the edge of his balcony.

He saw Drake inhale sharply. He saw Drake clench his hands into fists. Drake turned to look at him. He just stood there for a moment, searching Damian’s face.

Drake shuffled back away from the doorway. He came to the closest edge of his balcony. Damian saw him gauge the distance with a look, there was only about ten feet separating them.

Drake took a deep breath. “I saw Ra’s. He found me in Rome. It was a...short meeting.”

So it really had been his grandfather. And Drake had escaped him. Damian wanted to ask more, wanting to fling all of his questions out and finally, finally get some answers.

But he could see Drake, could see how tired he was. How his gaze was distant one moment and then focused the next. He looked a moment from passing out.

“Are you-” Damian cut himself off. He took a second to order his words. Getting into a fight wouldn’t get him the answers he wanted.  “I know you were recovering, in the healers’ halls. And now it seems you are well enough to not have to spend the night there as well. Are you- feeling better?”

Drake looked floored. He was too tired or injured to bother covering his expressions. Damian could read the bewilderment and shook on his face very clearly.

Damian felt it like a splash of cold water. Why would Drake ever gives him answers? What would ever make Drake feel inclined to even converse with him? He clearly expected nothing but violence from Damian.

And Damian couldn’t fault him that logic. 

Damian took a step back. He shouldn’t have hoped for anything from Drake. He shouldn’t have tried, it just made him look desperate and childish.

“Uh, a little?” Drake finally replied, his expression still stunningly mystified. “It’s- yeah. A little better.”

Damian nodded. He walked briskly past his curtains and back into his room. He quickly turned back, peaking through the gaps in the fabric.

Drake remained at the edge of the balcony for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He looked like the action caused him pain. Eventually Drake went back into WonderGirl’s room. He didn’t emerge again.

Damian hadn’t been that close to Drake since his attempt on his life. It was such a wildly different circumstance. It left Damian feeling like he might’ve imagined the whole conversation. It hadn’t felt real, in a way.

Damian went back to his bed. He stared up at his ceiling. The questions were still present in his mind, but there was something new there next to them. A bit of doubt.  Did he really want answers? And what would he do if the answers he got were not what he wanted? What if answers just made him feel more like this....untethered, unreal.

What did he want?

Damian didn’t sleep.


	8. Message(s) Received

Damian stayed in his room as long as he would’ve if he’d been asleep. He got dressed and packed his food as he usually did. He cleaned his face and hoped that Kore wouldn’t be able to tell how little sleep he had gotten in the past few days.

He headed out of his room, turned, and was face-to-face with WonderGirl.

“Oh!” WonderGirl looked surprised to see him.

Damian clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to talk to her. He stalked past her. WonderGirl grabbed his arm.

“Hey, wait a second-”

Damian wrenched his arm out of her grasp, “Don’t touch me!”

WonderGirl held up her hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Keep it down, Tim’s still sleeping.”

“- _tt-_ ” Damian scoffed. He turned to leave.

WonderGirl followed behind him, “Hey, um, look I wanted to apologize.” 

Damian stopped. He turned to her, glaring.

“I wasn’t my best yesterday. And….and you weren’t who I was mad at. You didn’t have to talk to me and reassure me about Tim, but you did, and I should have thanked you for that.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at her.

WonderGirl bristled under the look, but didn’t lash out at him.

“So, _thank you_.” She emphasized, “And I’m sorry about what I said, about your family. That was- I shouldn’t have gone there. They do really care about you and I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have implied otherwise.”

Damian tried to read her, to see past the baffling sentiment she was trying to convey. But once again he found no tell, no indication that she was lying. 

“They aren’t my family,” Damian replied. “And I don’t care about what you said. I don’t waste my time thinking about the ravings of imbeciles.”

WonderGirl clenched her hands into fists. Damian moved his hands closer to his sword hilt.

But again, WonderGirl didn’t make any moves. She just glared at him.

“I was coming up here to find you,” She said, her tone stressed, like her calm was wearing down. “I’m going to fly up above the barrier and make a satellite phone call. I wanted to ask if you had a phone, and if you’d want me to take it up. So it could connect to service again.”

Damian hadn’t touched his phone since his first day on the island. He didn’t see any point in it, since the island was cut off from the world. If he gave it to her, she could just break it. Not that he cared about it.

“Why would I bother?” Damian asked.

WonderGirl sighed, “I don’t know. Maybe you’d get some messages from people? You could schedule a message to go out once it received a signal. It would update your apps, like news and stuff.”

Damian just stared at her. It would be nice to read about world events. He might get a hint about what his mother was doing, or the League in general.

“Look, I’m trying to do a nice thing for you. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.” WonderGirl turned away from him.

“- _tt_ -” Damian clicked his tongue, “I will go get my phone. If this is some ploy to-”

“It’s not.” WonderGirl cut him off.

Damian rolled his eyes and stalked past her. He retrieved his phone and handed it over. She smiled a little at him.

“I’ll be a bit, but I should have it back to you in an hour or so.”

Damian didn’t acknowledge her. He set off, hurrying to avoid being late to the paddocks. WonderGirl found him just over an hour later. She came flying in, landing next to the grazing goats.

“Uh, wow. I did not peg you for a shepard.” She commented. “How did you end up doing this?”

Damian glared at her. “My phone?”

“Right,” She handed it over. “It was going crazy with message alerts and pings.”

Damian slipped the phone into his belt pouch. He turned away from her, focusing back on the herd.

She stood there for a few more moments before sighing and taking off. Damian waited until she was completely out of sight before pulling his phone out.

He did indeed have a lot of messages. Hundreds. He opened his message app and scrolled down. He had new messages from Cassandra, Brown, and Pennyworth; a couple dozen from each. Grayson had too many for the alert to say, just leaving it at 99+. 

Damian hesitated, his finger hovering above the chat log.

Why had they sent so many? Surely they knew he would not receive any of them. Surely they knew he wouldn’t be able to respond.

Damian opened Cassandra’s chat log. She had messaged him occasionally when he had been in Gotham, usually photos of animals she came across or food. He’d never responded to any of them.

She had sent more photos. More animals, more food, some selfies. She had also sent videos and audio clips. Damian pressed play on the first one. A delicate waltz spilled out of his phone’s speakers. 

Damian opened Brown’s chat log. She had also messaged him before. She usually sent nothing but selfies with horribly annoying poses. Her new messages were less selfies, and more shots of Gotham at night. There were what looked like art gallery pieces in some photos. And some videos from different enclosures of animals from Gotham Zoo. There were also a few texts. Most of them asked him how he was doing, before tying an emoji that looked like someone smacking their own head. 

Damian opened Pennyworth’s chat log. He had not been one to message Damian at all before. But now there were several long text messages. They all began with him inquiring about Damian’s health, before talking about some inane thing Pennyworth was doing. A recipe Pennyworth was trying, a rare bird he had spotted in the garden, an article he had read and recommended. 

Grayson hadn’t messaged him much before either. They had very rarely been more than a few rooms apart, there had been no need.

There were now hundreds of messages.

Damian scrolled through them, his phone struggling to load them all. 

_Damian! I miss you! The apartment’s just not the same. A new take out place opened around the corner and it’s so good! Have you ever had hoggies? If you haven’t we’ll have to fix that when you get back._

_How’s the weather over there? It seems like it’s always raining in Gotham. I hope you’re having fun in the sun. I’ll just be here in my wet socks, missing you._

_Things are so crazy in the city. Rogues left and right, and more petty crime than we’ve had to deal with for years! Everyone just needs to calm down already. I want you back soon!_

_I can’t believe it’s been two months already. I miss you Little D! Are you having fun? Are you learning cool sword and shield stuff? I want to see you…._

_I had a dream you were back, but then I woke up and you’re still on your trip and now I’m all sad._

_I hope you’re relaxing. Maybe once you’re back we can all go to a beach together. It probably won’t be as nice as where you are now. But still- It’d be nice because we’d all be together._

_I miss you._

On and on it went. Almost every day since he’d left, Grayson had sent him some sort of message. Damian’s hand shook and his vision was clouded by tears.

It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel _real._

It didn’t make any sense. Why would Grayson bother? Why would any of them bother? What was the point? What was their angle- what did they have to gain? Why would they spend so much time thinking about him and sending him things?

WonderGirl’s words came to his mind.

_‘I don’t know why any of them care about you.’_

_‘They really do care about you…’_

Damian didn’t know why she apologized. They _didn’t_ care about him. They had no reason to. They were just obstacles, threats, imbeciles, and interlopers.

Why would they care?

‘ _They aren’t my family._ ’

Damian wiped furiously at his eyes. He threw his phone away from him. The goats looked over at it, a few going to inspect the object, probably thinking it was food. One of them picked it up in their mouth.

Damian vaulted over to them. He snatched the phone out of the goat’s mouth. He turned it over in his hands. It didn’t look damaged. He brushed the dirt and goat spit off of it. Damian carefully put his phone away in his belt pouch.

Dunyazad came over to him and bumped her head against his hip. She bleated at him, demanding pats. Damian’s hand went to her head almost on instinct.

“Why?” Damian asked her, as if she could give him an answer. “Why do they care?”

Dunyazad just leaned into his petting, closing her eyes.

“I tried to kill one of them. I was there to surpass every one of them. I was there to take my birthright. They’re not my family. Just because Father kept them around doesn’t make them my family. I never treated them like family. Why would they-?”

He remembered Grayson sitting with him, in the dark of his room. He remembered how open and trusting Grayson had been. Sure, there had been cameras monitoring them, but that wouldn’t have saved him if Damian had decided to strike. But Grayson had stayed with him, on so many nights, just sitting with him in the dark. Telling him stories and rambling about any inane thing he could think of.

Just like-

Damian’s hand on Dunyazad stilled. 

Just like _he_ had done for Dunyazad. Grayson had comforted him like he was a wounded animal. Like he needed someone to stay with him through the night. Like he needed someone to take care of him, watch over him. Like he needed the reassurance of company to heal.

But he hadn't needed it. He hadn't been injured or about to go into shock. He hadn't needed any of it.

Grayson gave it anyway.

Dunyazad looked up at him and bleated softly.


	9. A Boon

Damian knew Drake and WonderGirl left the next day. He saw WonderWoman’s plane soaring over the island the next morning. He spared a moment, watching the vapor trail fade against the brilliantly blue sky, to wonder if he could have left with them. He had a better idea now that his stay on Themyscira wasn’t a  _ test _ , nor was it a dedicated training mission. But he still didn’t know how long he was supposed to stay.

Grayson had explained to him prior to leaving the anticipated uptick of criminal activity in the wake of publicizing Batman’s demise. But he hadn’t really believed that was a main reason why he was being moved to the island. Thinking on it, and seeing it referenced so often in Grayson’s texts, he was more inclined to believe now. They needed everyone available for field work, including Grayson who had been more-or-less relegated to guarding him at the penthouse.

So they had needed Damian gone. Or at least in a situation where Grayson wouldn’t have to be occupied 24/7. 

Damian didn’t know why they hadn’t sent him back to his Mother. With his Father dead, he had very little reason to remain in Gotham. He was not yet of age to inherit his Father’s estate and wealth. But he also didn’t know  _ all _ the reasons his Mother had sent him to Father in the first place. He wondered if Grayson knew more about that than he did.

Damian settled back into his routine with the goats, now spending some of his time scrolling through the many messages logged on his phone. He could almost hear their voices reading the words aloud. 

And, before he expected it, the bet’s allotted month was over.

Damian returned the herd to their paddock on his final day. He got the dogs their food and settled sat on the fence to watch the sunset fade from the sky. Kore found him out there, a little past dark, her crook’s lantern the only light around.

“It would seem you have proven me wrong, fish.” Kore sighed as she leaned against the fence.

Damian looked over at her. She was staring out over the goats, waving one of the dogs over for pets.

Damian cleared his throat. “My tenure was not....without incident.”

Kore nodded, “Aye. You almost lost one. A hard lesson. But not uncommon. Animals live and die. We tend them, but we are not perfect. Do you count your month a failure for an early common mistake?”

Damian clenched his jaw, “You are the judge here.”

“I am,” Kore nodded again. She nudged the dog over to him. Damian’s hand went to its head on instinct, patting and rubbing. The dog’s tail wagged and Kore cracked a rare smile.

“My challenge was for you to prove yourself capable of patience, restraint, and care. Through tending the herd, but the herd was never the challenge. I think you’ve more than won our wager.” Kore stood up straight and stretched her back, “The bull is yours.”

Damian felt a surge of pride and a rush of relief. He had been worried that his efforts would be measured and found wanting. 

“About the bull,” Damian’s hand stilled on the dog’s head, “I do not want to slaughter it. Nor do I have any means of keeping it. I will not be on this island forever, and neither Gotham nor my previous homes have any space for livestock. You also said it was usually a gift for your Gods. What I know of the Greek pantheon would lead me to believe that taking what is the Gods’ is a foolish endeavor.”

Kore laughed, “That would be foolish, if it were destined for any other God. But the bull was marked to be my tribute this year, so it is mine to give, or loose in a wager.”

Damian blinked. He turned to look at Kore.

“...your tribute?”

Kore smiled again, “Yes. I have a few other names. I think the most common one for me these days is Persephone.”

Damian wasn’t sure what to make of it. She still looked the same, dirty from the day’s work, a tired slump to her stance, calloused hands. But he was on an island of legend, surrounded by mythical warriors. A goddess didn’t seem out of place.

“I knew you didn’t recognize my name. It was sort of fun, speaking with you as one mortal would to another.” Kore sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Now, what to do about your bull. You don’t have need of its meat, nor the ability to care for it…”

Damian’s mind raced. He had a crazy thought- but was it really crazy? After all, it turned out he’d been working for a goddess for a month without knowing it.

“What if I offer it to you as tribute?” He asked, “Or as a...prayer? To ask for a boon.”

Kore lifted an eyebrow. “Offering it back to me? That’s one way to go about it. Alright. And what boon do you seek, my newest devotee?”

Damian could feel his palms getting sweaty. The dog huffed at him and nudged his hand for more pets. Damian knew it was a long shot, but if this was truly Persephone he was speaking to, a goddess of the underworld…

“My Father,” Damian swallowed roughly, “My Father died a few months ago-”

Kore shook her head, “I’m not the one to ask for that. I live in Hades for the winter months, and I tend my kingdom there, but I don’t choose who stays and who goes.”

Damian clenched his jaw, “If you can’t bring him back- What about carrying a message? Asking a question? I- there was so much I never got to speak with him about.”

“It depends on where he is,” Kore explained, “I might be able to speak with him. What was his name?”

“Bruce Thomas Wayne,” Damian replied.

Kore inhaled deeply and took her shepherd's crook in hand. She blew at the lantern’s flame. A billowing of smoke came rushing out from it, surrounding them. Damian held still as the smoke swirled and amassed into shapes around them. Kore spoke, and it was as if hundreds of voices were speaking at once. She repeated Bruce’s name three times, each iteration echoing louder than the next.

Silhouettes appeared in the smoke, dark and ill-defined. They drifted closer and then faded away. The smoke stopped billowing and eventually dissipated into the night around them.

“I am sorry,” Kore spoke, once again with her normal voice, “I won’t be able to grant your boon, for your father is not among the dead.”

“What?” Damian didn’t understand.

Kore sighed, “Wherever your father is, he’s not dead.”

Damian blinked at her, “You’re sure?”

Kore nodded, “I am.”

Damian’s hand went to his belt. He was reaching for his phone before he remembered he had no signal. His hand was shaking, and for once Damian didn’t care to hide it. He needed to tell Grayson, Cassandra, Pennyworth, Brown, even Drake-

His father was alive.  


He needed to get off the island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than normal, but I managed it! A few more chapters left, I think....


	10. Departure

Damian returned to his rooms. He packed his bags and began to work out a plan. He needed to get out beyond the mystic barrier, from there he could message Grayson and the rest and get transport back to Gotham. 

Without Wonder Woman or WonderGirl on the island, the easiest way past the barrier was to take a boat out far enough from shore. Damian had seen the fishing boats many times on the beaches. He hoped it wouldn’t take too much convincing to borrow one for his task. Maybe he could offer his help with the catch in exchange?

Damian paused in his packing. Wonder Woman had offered him the linens and chiton as a gift. Did that extend past his stay on the island? She hadn’t said either way.

Damian carefully folded the chiton and belt into his duffle bag. If he was mistaken, he could always return them to her through his Father.

Damian felt a tightness in his chest. _His Father._

His Father was alive. Missing. Whatever had happened during the failed invasion, he had survived it. Damian felt relieved, thinking on it. So much about his place in the world had been thrown into chaos with his Father's death. But now that he was alive, Damian knew his path again. He would find his Father and resume his training. He would live in Gotham again. And he would continue to prove to his Father that he was a worthy heir.

Damian zipped his duffle closed. It was late in the evening. He would have to be up early to catch the boats before they headed out for the day's work. He considered trying to sleep, but his mind was racing. Maybe meditation would help.

Damian went out onto his balcony. He took deep breaths and began running through a simple routine. The clear night sky twinkled with distant stars. The insects hummed and chirped. Until they abruptly stopped.

Damian looked around, trying to spot the reason for the disturbance. There, down by the trailing grape vines, something was moving. Someone. They were far shorter than any of the Amazons. Damian thought for a moment it might be WonderGirl, but she would have no reason to move from shadow to shadow on Themyscira.

Damian drew one of his knives and crouched, keeping an eye on the figure. They were approaching the barracks building, almost right under his balcony. They were clad in dark clothing, a hood and mask hiding their face.

Damian moved, dropping from his balcony and landing on top of the stranger. They were quick to throw him off and roll away, silent in every action. They turned, a sword drawn from seemingly nowhere, and stopped.

“Young Master,” They whispered, turning their sword away from him and holding it at rest at their side. “I have been sent to retrieve you.”

They bowed to him, holding out a hidden crest with their free hand. They were of the League.

“For what purpose?” Damian asked. He hadn’t thought the League could reach the island.

“The Demon’s Head commands your presence.” They told him, straightening up, “I have a boat on the shore for us, and a larger ship beyond the island’s reach.”

Damian hesitated. His Grandfather was sending for him? It had been more than a year since he’d last been in his Grandfather’s presence. Why was he sending for him now? And why hadn’t his Mother?

“Time is of the essence,” The ninja gestured to their surroundings, “We must leave before we are detected.”

“Where are you to take me? Nanda Parbat?” Damian asked.

“I do not know our ultimate destination.” The ninja bowed their head, “My apologies, Young Master, I was simply sent for you.”

Damian nodded, “I will retrieve my things. Stay here.”

Damian walked back to the front of the old barracks, rather than scale the wall, in order to give himself more time to think. 

He knew Mother and Grandfather were at odds, or at least they had been when last he’d seen his Mother. But he also had no solid reason to decline the invitation. He didn’t know to what extent their disagreements had grown. And he was of the League; when the Demon’s Head summoned you, you appeared.

Damian was silent as he entered his rooms. He retrieved his duffle and went back out through the hallway, avoiding the balcony. 

Damian opened his phone and typed a message. He turned off all notifications and sounds. When he reached open waters and the message sent, there would be no alert telling him so.

Damian walked out of the barracks. He shut the door behind him and paused. He looked out towards the other buildings nearby. He could see the faint light from the bonfire in the middle of the plaza. He wondered how long it would take them to notice he was gone. Now that he was finished with his shepherding, there was no one to expect him day-to-day.

He had planned to say goodbye to Kore tomorrow, before going out past the barrier. He was no stranger to suddenly leaving, to missing fare-wells out of necessity. But it made his chest tight to know now he would not speak to her again, possibly ever.

He had also wished to say something to Dunyazad, but that was a foolish thing to want. She would not understand- of course she wouldn’t, she was just an animal.

Damian went back and met up with the ninja waiting under his balcony. He followed them to the shore, where they had stashed their small row boat. The two of them carried it into the surf and began paddling quietly out towards the open waters.

Damian kept watch, looking back towards the island. It was truly a beautiful place. He knew he was one of the very few mortals to have ever seen it and lived. Even more so being a man. A fog began rolling in as the shore grew more and more distant. Soon, the island was entirely obscured from view.

Their row boat passed through the heavy marine fog, emerging on the other side to colder winds and a dark clouded sky. Damian shivered.

“I will check our position,” The ninja stopped rowing and pulled out a GPS. 

They got their bearings and set off again. Soon, a small yacht appeared over the horizon. They made their way to it, welcomed by the crew with a ladder over the side. Damian was bade to go up, while the ninja got the rowboat secured to be hoisted back on board. He was greeted on the deck by another ninja and led into the cabin.

“What is our destination? Where has my Grandfather summoned me?” Damian asked them.

“Here, Young Master,” The ninja bowed and gestured to a door, “The Demon’s Head awaits you.”

Damian gripped his hands into fists. His Grandfather was _here?_ On the boat? Damian looked down at himself. He wasn’t filthy, he had bathed since his work in the fields earlier in the day. But he wasn’t dressed for a formal appearance. He had never met his Grandfather while wearing less than his full regalia. 

He had no time to do anything about that. And he also didn’t have any regalia with him. He set his duffle bag down, against the wall next to the door. It wouldn’t do to be carrying his own luggage. 

“Shall I attend to that for you, Young Master?” The ninja asked.

“You will not touch it, nor will you allow anyone else to,” Damian commanded.

The ninja bowed.

Damian took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.

The room inside was small, the whole ship was barely sixty feet long. The grand chambers Damian had seen his Grandfather in before would not have fit aboard the vessel. It was lavishly decorated, art hung on the walls, braziers of incense burned in the corners, rich couches and decorated tables were artfully arranged. On the far side of the room sat Ra’s Al Ghul. He was reading a book, lounging on one of the couches, clad in brilliant silks.

Damian felt even more under dressed than before.

He entered the room and knelt before his Grandfather. He bowed his head to the floor.

Ra’s did not acknowledge him. He kept reading his book, idly flipping the pages. Damian remained bent to the floor.

Finally- nearly half an hour later- Ra’s set his book aside and sat up fully. He cleared his throat.

“Grandson,” He addressed, “Rise.”

Damian rose to his knees. Ra’s stared at him, scanning his face and outfit. Ra’s did not hide his displeasure, the bridge of his nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing.

Damian did not quake under the intensity of his stare. He kept his face neutral, his posture attentive. It occurred to him then, that he had never met with his Grandfather without his Mother present before. He desperately wished for her to be there now.

Ra’s stood and crossed the distance between them. He grabbed Damian’s jaw with a hand, forcing him to crane his head further upwards. He held him there, in that strained pose for a long, silent moment.

Ra’s smiled, his eyes boring into Damian’s.

“We have much to discuss.”

Out in the hallway, silently, his phone connected to service.

  
  


_To Grayson:_ _  
_ _My grandfather has summoned me. I do not know where. I will endeavor to keep my phone near me for as long as I can._

  
  
_To Grayson:_ _  
_ _Father is alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where I'm leaving this one. It's been super fun for me to explore Damian in this side story. Now that he's returning to the main world and plot, the story will continue in "Crisis." I'll try not to take too long to update there.  
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving Kudos, and commenting!  
> <3


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